


Fight Me!

by BamSara



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alcohol, Dib tries to fight Zim while drunk and Zim is just ???lmao ok human, Fist Fights, Hangover, High School, M/M, No beta reader, Or at least the attempt of one, Underage Drinking, ZADF, ZaDr, its not dark folks i promise, qpp, theres some jokes in here, theyre teenagers, we hit post and die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 14:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21429631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BamSara/pseuds/BamSara
Summary: A pause. Dib is staring up at a mixture of ceiling and alien, the green gets a bit bigger in his vision until he feels something swishing in the air close to his face. Antennae flick wildly in front of his vision and he has half a mind to reach out and grab one until Zim recoils in visible disgust, teeth bared and tongue poking out in a grimace.“You REEK of poison.”----Or, the fic where Dib goes to a high school party he doesn't really wanna be at, gets drunk, shows up at Zim's house for the sole purpose of wanting to pick a fight with him, ends up knocking himself out. Zim is both laughing at him and dealing with him about it.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 986





	Fight Me!

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey I wrote this for ZADR week phase 2, Day 3: Intoxicated
> 
> anyways don't underage drink kids, shits bad for you

Dib swirls the liquid around in his party-classic red cup. The guy who shoved it at him told him it was supposed to be cherry flavored, but it certainly doesn't smell that way. It stinks strong, and he hasn't had a sip yet but the headache that was forming in the back of his head was starting to encourage him.

In truth, he's got no real reason to be here.

Here, being this overrated house party in the middle of the suburbs surrounded by his classmates who are all either drunk or high, or maybe both. Music is blasting through a stereo system that looks way too expensive to break in the living room, though no one really seems to be dancing. Instead they’re all yelling something about a card game, a group of girls collect near the kitchen doorway to talk in hushed voices and pointing at select members of the party, (one of their fingers linger over him for a second and he inwardly cringes when her face flashes distaste and looks away) while everyone else seems to be socializing in groups of two or three, finding places on the stairs or in the hallway. It's loud and crowded. There's a chance at least 70% of the school is here.

It takes him a minute to drown out the mass of voices to focus long enough to spot purple hair, over near the couch. Gas is currently preoccupied, zoned in on the Smash Brothers match she and two other unfortunate yet overconfident souls have gotten into. Dib is leaning on the wall across the room, and his glasses are starting to fog up from all the people in the room but it doesn't need to see them clearly to know that she's winning when one of the other gamers throws his controller down, cursing way too dramatically and taking a chug of his drink.

Dib looks down to his cup. This party was stupid. He wasn't even invited.

His sister was, of course. He never gets the privilege, not that he cares anyway. There are way more important things than making a fool of yourself screaming piss-drunk anyways. Things like his research on the paranormal, bigfoot, moth-man and ghosts and the whatnot. All for which are sitting on his desk at home, still and waiting for him while he’s standing here alone, crashing a high school party for the sake of completing one of the many teenage mile-stones that everyone’s got on their list.

No one really wants to spare a glance in his direction and that’s fine. He doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t need friends. No one’s gonna kick him out of here, of course, unless they want to face the wrath of sister. It was her idea, after all. Mentioned something about getting ‘payback’ on one of the seniors for beating her high school in Vampire Piggy, the party aspect of it was just a bonus. And Dib, being the responsible older brother that he is, tags along.

Or really, he’s was dragged here because their dad wouldn’t want one sibling to go alone, despite the fact that Gaz can clearly take care of herself.

And maybe Dib wanted to go just so he could say that he went to a party. You know, for experience, or whatever.

Maybe if he tried to appear normal, drink in hand and all cool like, there wouldn’t be any vandalism on his locker this week.)

But he’s really bored. Even the super hairy werewolf-looking kid is wasted and off to the side telling some story. He doesn’t care to listen, he has no interest in the lives of his peers. Not like the paranormal.

(Wonder what Zim is up to right now? He’s not here, he might be stiring up one of his evil plots-)

Someone bumps into him and nearly spills the entire contents of his cup downside his shirt. He looks up to see whoever it was, but they’re gone, and Dib is brought back to the reality of being a wallflower with no other company than what the supposed cherry-flavored drink was supposed to bring him.

He looks back down to the cup, bringing it up to his nose to give it a whiff. Hesitance, then he sips at it. That sip turns into a gulp, and Dib is downing the cup in it’s entirety within a sixty-second period. His face pulls back with a wince. It doesn’t taste good, but it’s not bad either. Just kinda…new.

It’s a good thing that no one wants to pay him any attention, because slipping away to where the alcohol is kept and pouring himself another goes noticed. No one says anything as it keeps downing, and Dib is careful to stick to the walls.

* * *

It’s a quiet night, save for the obnoxious volume of Gir’s show echoing through the house when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s not a hard knock. Not a quiet one either. Dib waits for a moment, then two, then tries again, just a little more forceful this time. The gnomes are all looking at him, burning holes into his back but no lazers come out to chase him away. One of them is toppled over on it’s side from where he tripped over it, grass stains decorating his jeans now. He doesn’t think about their lack of action too much and knocks again-

The door swings open way too quickly and he almost topples forward but catches himself, not gracefully, but standing on his own two feet. It takes him a few seconds to gather his balance, and a few more to realize he’s being glared at.

“Ew, it’s you.” Zim is as blunt as ever.

Dib’s hand curls into a fist, knuckles turning white at the sight of him an opens his mouth to speak, but the irken cuts him abruptly off, tossing away goggles (goggles? He thinks those were goggles. He must have been working on something before Dib arrived) somewhere else in the house. A small clunk noise and a laugh hints it bonked Gir on the head and fell off somewhere.

“Of course, there’s only one disgusting human who would bother me in the middle of the night. Have you come to surrender to your future overlord, Dib?” The voice is loud and annoying and piercing his ears. “Unless you’ve come to submit to Irken authority I highly suggest you GO AWAY!” (Something flutters in front of his face, like he’s being dramatically waved off.) “Away with you! Zim is busy!”

The hand comes into focus for a moment, showing three gloved fingers. Dib has to squint at it, resist the urge to grab it in case he loses his balance and falls, and quietly notes the silence that has overtaken the yard. The creature in front of him growls something under his breathe after a minute, hissing when the human doesn’t immediately turn tale. “I said, _shoo_, you disgusting worm. Go ‘sleep’ or something.”

Dib just blinks at him, eyes out of sync and staring at him with a far-out expression. The figure in the doorway shuffles uncomfortably. “What do you want?”

A second passes. Two seconds, then Dib’s hand swings up and pulls back into a fist, aiming for the green blur and punching as hard as he physically could-

-he falls to the floor with a thud, and the alien is laughing at him from the spot where he side-stepped. “HA! Pathetic beasts. Having trouble steering that big head of yours?”

“MARY!” A shrill, robotic voice. Something hard lands on his back and Dib feels his stomach lurch. Gir stands on him, tiny hands are pulling at his hair. “MARY’S GONNA STAY FOR TV???”

Zim says something too jumbled for Dib to understand, but the robot stays latched on. “You’re getting your human-germs all over my floor and my robot.”

He mumbles against the tile. “Fukin’ alien.” He makes a feeble swipe at the irken’s legs, which said alien meerly squints at, stepping over the hand as Dib moves to him. “I’m here-” A hiccup. “I’m here to stop your evil plan! I know you’ve been working on something. Gonna-”

“WHAT?” A pang in his head. Zim turns him over with his foot. “Speak clearly, DIb-stink! I can’t understand you when you-”

A pause. Dib is staring up at a mixture of ceiling and alien, the green gets a bit bigger in his vision until he feels something swishing in the air close to his face. Antennae flick wildly in front of his vision and he has half a mind to reach out and grab one until Zim recoils in visible disgust, teeth bared and tongue poking out in a grimace.

“You _reek_ of poison.” He makes an obvious gagging noise, and Dib tries to kick him. He fails. “No wonder you’re more incompetent than usual. You’re completely inhibited.” The alien’s tone is between both fascination and repulsion. There’s something else there too, but Dib is way too drunk to zero in on it. “Who did this?”

“Did…What?” Dib’s head is swimming. Go figure for his first time being a party-goer he finds out he’s a miserable light-weight. Or maybe it’s cause he doesn’t know his limit. Either way, he doesn’t want to move, but damn him if he didn’t come here for a reason. “Whatever. Fight me.”

Red eyes narrow at him. It’s taken him this long to realize the alien isn’t disguised. “Answer Zim!”

“Fight me!” Dib tries to sit up, (keyword: tries) and makes a move to punch the alien right in the gut. Or the sqeedilyspooch. Either way, he misses. Zim eyes him, arms crossed and side-stepping him effortlessly as the teenager stumbles to his feet, curling both hands into fists and and lunging for the Invader. “Fight me! Go on! Show me what you’ve got-!”

His head smacks into the door frame and he’s seeing stars in his vision. Too erratic, too unfocused that he practically threw himself into that. A cackles sounds from behind him. “Look at the Dib-Monkey go, GIR!”

Said robot, who is still clinging to the backside of Dib’s trenchcoat, is screaming like he’s on a roller-coaster ride. “Again! AGAIN!”

The human spins around, (and the room spins with him), aims for spot a nose would be if Zim had one and attacks. A zipper-teeth grin, an grasp on his punching arm and Dib finds himself introduced to the floor once again. He lets out a grunt of pain as his back hits the floor too hard for his liking, the back of his head following suit.

Zim hovers over him, hand on his wrist and holding it tightly. “Stupid, stupid human. Are you finished? Are you done trying to knock yourself unconscious?” Dib opens his mouth to retort but Zim cuts him off. “Tell me who poisoned you!”

The boy blinks up at him. “The…The fuck are you talkin’ bout-”

The grip around his wrist tightens and Dib is unceremoniously tugged upwards, arm held in the air and Zim closer to his face, teeth out in a sneer. “The smell, Dib! You reek of it! Tell me!” His other fist is shaking in his face, and the thought to snap at it to get him to back off arises momentarily. “Tell me! Who poisoned my nemesis!”

“It’s not poison, you dumb fuck.” He actually does end up snapping at the fist, nearly missing the gloved digits by centimeters before he’s jostled about. His stomach aches and the world is swirling around him in rivets but the alcohol rushing through his system gives him the courage to raise his foot, raise for the alien knees and kick. “It’s alcohol!”

He completely misses, his foot falling in the space between the invader’s ankles. Red eyes blink at the pathetic display and narrow in confusion. “Aal-kee-hol?”

“Issa drink.” He’s been careful not to slur his words so far, but he’s slipping. A tug on his arm shows no sign of the Invader letting go. “It’s re…recrea-… recreational.”

Dib kicks again, and yells out in frustration when Zim’s foot comes down on his leg. Not crushing it, not even pressing hard, but keeping it down where he couldn’t make any more annoying attacks towards him. “So you…poisoned yourself?” The tone of his voice is flooded with suspicion. “Either you’re lying or your stupider than you look. Why would you ever consume a substance that makes you even dumber than you already are? I didn’t even think that was possible.”

The insult gets past the filters haze over the teenager’s mind and Dib pulls himself upwards by sheer will and throws a hit directly for the other’s mid-section. It makes contact, just enough for Zim to stumble backwards, his grip on the human falling and Dib uses the momentum to spring to his feet, (stumbling, unstable but upwards again) and raising his fists into the air. “Shut up and fight me!”

He expects enthusiastic response. The invader was well acquainted with violence, their fights stretching from small to nearly catastrophic, through all hours of the day and this time wouldn't be any different. He’s never one to turn down a chance to assert his ‘irken authority’ or whatever the fucking alien went on about. He takes pride with every victory and frankly Dib was a little drunkenly peeved about it.

Dib’s mental state is 40% alcohol, 40% teenage angst and 10% lonely. Maybe a little more on the last one.

Zim just kind stands there. “Eh-”

“C’mon! Fight me!” The dark haired boy taunts him, squaring the alien up and trying not to topple over as the world flips around him. “What? What are you waitin’ for, huh? I can take you. You and…and alla this!” He makes a wildly dramatic gesture to the inside of the base. Zim doesn’t say anything, just frowns and shuts the front door as the human keeps his ramblings. “Whatsa matter, space boy? Not feelin’ it tonight? Grumpy cause I interrupted your plans for world domy…domication?”

“It’s domination.” Zim corrects, arms folded behind his back. Gir is cheer-leading from the sidelines. “and Zim is not afraid of you, stink-boy.”

“Yeah?” He takes a step forward as a threat, but nearly loses his footing. The chuckle that escapes the alien as he regains his balance does not go unnoticed. Anger pulses through him, mixed in with a cauldron of other emotions. His words come out louder and fused together, like his tongue is coated in honey. Hard to talk, hard to focus. Threats come and go from his mouth as the invader just stands there, watching.“Fight me then!”

“Okay.” Zim says. “Hit me.”

Dib’s yelling stops, a blank expression flashing across his face for a split second before he shakes it away, stumbles forwards and lunges, hand curled into a fist and aiming for red eyes-

Zim steps to the left and Dib’s fists hit the door before his forehead does, pain blooming through both ends as the teenager stumbles back and falls on his behind, his glasses falling somewhere alway. Tears are welling in his eyes, stining ache in his knuckles and both hands coming up to cover the spot on his head where skin will no doubt be bruised and swollen in time.

His head feels heavy. God, he’s gonna be sick. He can barely hear Zim’s cackling laughter over his own groans of pain. “I like this version of you, Dib! You’re more pathetic than ever!”

Sucking air in through his teeth, Dib grits his teeth and moves to throttle him. “You fucker-”

-he promptly stops cold in his tracks, body frozen as a wave of something rushes through his body fast and uncomfortably. His face twists up in unease, eyes wide and sweating. Eyes unfocused and clutching his stomach. It’s a stark change from two seconds prior that even Zim stops his laughter to watch the theatrics before him. “What? Are you-”

Dib turns over and he vomits, taking in a sharp inhale of breath (somewhere behind him, Zim is screaming his alien lungs out about germs and disgust, calling for his robot) as the wave passes and just as he thinks he’s done, his foot steps backwards wrong, and he’s rushing towards the floor again for what feels like the 50th time in the last ten minutes.

Something yanks on the collar of the back of his coat, jolting him backwards until it leaves an ugly red line where the front of his shirt rides up to meet his neck and hold him up, and he’s held two inches from the floor as the world goes black.

* * *

He was warm. He was also in an incredible amount of pain. He’s been in worse, mind you. Protecting earth from a narcissistic alien villain whom you fight with every day would spike someone’s pain tolerance to sky high, but the headache that was pounding in his skull was definitely on his list of one of the worst feelings he’s ever been through. The taste in his mouth wasn’t helping, neither was the crick in his neck or the soreness of his knuckles.

But he was warm. So there’s that.

Immediately upon wakening Din knows his glasses are gone. Somewhere…else. He can’t really remember where they’ve dropped off to. Opening one’s eyes is a pain so he refrains, allows himself a moment to collect his baring as the memory of the night prior floods back into his mind.

Stretches his legs, opens and closes his fingers. The boy pauses. He’s in some sort of cocoon. A warm one, that’s soft and smells faintly of fresh laundry detergent and too much febreeze. Which was weird, because he doesn’t remember the last time he’s had the time nor energy to wash his bed-sheets.

His eyes peek open, fearful of the light and what pain it might bring to his senses. It’s dim in the room, though sunrise peeks through the living room windows just enough for him to make out the blanket that he’s been unceremoniously and roughly wrapped into instead of just laying over him. His head is propped up against the armrest, limbs squished together in the comforter like someone would try to wrap a burrito. It takes a moment of concentration and wincing from the pain, but he eventually gets his arms out, taking a moment to gather his surroundings.

It hits him the same moment he feels something shift in the blankets and Dib feels his heart leap out of his chest. “What the fuck!”

Teal eyes peak up at him and make him cringe from their brightness. “Oh. It’s just you.”

“Good mornin’!” Gir decides this is the opportune time to roll around on his chest, like a cat burrowing into a nest. Dib tries not to cringe at the feel of metal scraping against his shirt. “Did you have good dreams???”

“Uh. Sure.” He plucks the robot by the scruff of the neck and moves to drop him to the floor, only to have Gir scutter up his arm and find a place to securely attach himself to Dib’s head, using his sycth-like hair piece as a safety grab. “Ooooh did they taste good??”

“Dreams don’t taste like anything.” It hurts to talk, his throat feels raw and his brain is pounding. Dib looks about the blurry living room, feels a creeping sense of unease as recollection comes to mind. “Hey, uh. Where’s Zim?” He’s not here, obviously. But there’s no way he’d just leave Dib unattended in his base, especially not while the human was vulnerable. An unease shift in his chest. He honestly wonders why he isn’t dead yet. “He’s not…uh, here. Is he?”

“OOOHHHHHHHHH” Gir grabs both sides of Dib’s face, tilting it upwards so both bright blue eyes are glaring back into Dib’s own. He hisses at the sudden light and the sting it brings. “I don’t know!”

Oh, great. Lovely. Fantastic. He was in his enemy’s base, which normally would be a fantastic thing if he had a camera or two. Only he’s got his first and worst hangover he’s ever had, parts of his body are sore and he really reeks of lingering vodka and vomit. His glasses were god-knows where and he can hardly see two feet in front of him without him. Great. “Hey, little robot. I, uh-…I need you to do me a favor?”

Gir uses his hair as a rug to sprawl out on. “YEAH? YEAH?”

The robot’s voice is shrill. Gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes closed, Dib’s hands fly to his ears. Surprise arises when he feels the softness of something wrapped around his head at the touch, but ignores it for the time being.. “Could you get me my glasses. Please? Without breaking them, preferably-”

“It’s too late for that.”

A new voice, a familiar one, and it sends a shocking jolt through Dib that’s enough to make him yelp in surprise. He turns to stare wide-eyed at an (now disguised) irken, who doesn’t look any better than how Dib feels. It’s a blurry look, mind you, but the exhaustion on the irken is evident just in his voice alone too.

The investigator’s first instinct is to jump and run, but his mind is still dazed, so he sits and stares blankly at an equally tired alien until something smacks him on the forehead, causing him to hold the sore spot tenderly and frantically grab at the object before it bounces off his lap and off the coach.

“You broke them when you decided to face my front door head-on.” There’s a pun in there somewhere, but Zim doesn’t elaborate on it. Dib squints, places the newly discovered glasses on his face and finds a crack stretching across the left lens. “That, and Gir wanted to play with them while I fixed that over-sized head of yours.”

“It gave me X-ray vision!” The robot falls off Dib’s head and into his lap.

Zim sighs. “You already have X-ray vision.”

With the glasses back on, the room is instantly clearer, as does the situation sinking in. Dib looks to his hands, the knuckles scraped up but not the worse they've ever been. His trench coat is gone, clad in just his T-shirt and jeans now. A stretch of his toes tells him his shoes are off and a quick glance across the room shows they’ve been tossed in a corner with coloring chalk all over them. A little robot’s doing, but it looks like all the laces are there, at least.

Fingers raise to his head, touching soft wrapping on greasy hair. He was overdue for a shower, no doubt. And another nap. There’s no telling what time it was but he’s thankful it’s at least a weekend, because there’s no way Dib is going to class feeling like this. His father would have him questioned for ruining his perfect attendance. And Gaz-

Oh, geeze. Gaz. She was probably pissed at him. No, not probably, guaranteed. Or maybe not. Who knows. She’d be more upset if she lost a game of Vampire Piggy than she would be at the sudden disappearance of her brother, scuttering off drunk in the night to go pick fights with an alien. Maybe she didn’t even notice he left. Did anyone notice, he wonders. Or did they see him bumbling drunk off his ass across town towards Zim’s house and make their own assumptions?

He wanted to cradle his face in his hands at the thought process, but Gir was currently playing a one-sided patty-cake game with them. High school parties were _not _his thing.

“Ahem!”

A startling noise, loud and unwelcome. Dib breaks out of his musing, blinking away the rest of the sleep from his eyes and turning to Zim. The alien stands to the side of the sofa, holding something out. His arm is outstretched as far as possible, holding a pair of tongs, which that was holding a simple plastic cup. The investigator peers inside. Clear liquid.

“It’s water, you idiot.” Zim hisses, straining to stay as far away from the cup’s contents as possible. “Drink.”

Dib looks to the Zim, to the cup, back to Zim again. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to drink anything you give me. This could have anything in it!” He cranes his neck away from the offering and sneers at it. “You could have poisoned it!-”

“If I wanted you to die of poison, I would have given you more of the _all-kee-hol_ that you love so much!” He juts the cup forwards until the slightest bit of water sloshes over the side and onto Dib. Gir pats the wet spots on his shirt and makes fishy faces. “You had enough of that vile substance in you that it nearly done it! Now drink! Zim commands you!”

Dib snatches the cup none too gently, making sure to bat the tongs away too while he was at it. “I’ll throw this on you!”

Zim snorts. “If you don’t drink, I’ll activate the brain rotting nano-chips I’ve put inside that massive head of yours.”

At the mention, another pounding wave pulses through his head, an aching feeling traveling through the entirety of his mind and down his spine. Or maybe that was fear. Either way, Dib clutches the cup harder and gapes at him. “You’re lying.”

A zipper-toothed smile. “Computer! Activate the brain rotting-!”

“WAIT! Wait, wait.” A sigh, a resignation. “I’ll drink it, I guess.”

Zim goes quiet, but not before sending him a triumphant grin. If Dib had the energy, he’d smack it right off.

He inhales sharply, taking a deep breathe for courage before taking a bold sip of the substance. He expects something sour, something burning down his throat or even suddenly for his mouth to be filled with tiny, little bugs. Instead, the taste is…mundane. Water, and it’s washing away the disgusting taste of vomit still lingering from last night. “This is actually water, isn’t it?”

The alien gives a curt nod. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Dib feels his mouth twitch into a unreadable expression as he finishes the rest of the drink. “There’s no brain-rotting nano-bots, are there?”

“No, but it’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

Dib throws the cup at him. It clunks against the Invader’s chest and the alien only gives an unamused look. “Are you done? Done stinking my base up with your disgusting, human smell?” Zim snaps at him. “I can still hear you retch in my mind. Utterly revolting. I never knew humans could be so…so intense with this _puking_ habit of yours.”

“It’s not exactly pleasant for us, you know.” His body is begging him to burrow underneath the covers and go back to sleep, but it’s not in Dib’s nature to steer away from an opportunity to make Zim uncomfortable. “But if you’re interested, I bet I could do it again.” His stomach certainly felt like it. “In fact, I feel like doing it every time I look at you.”

“SILENCE! You will not soil my home with your disgusting organ-acid filth!” One gloved hand swings out to point a sharp claw at his face. “You will LEAVE Zim’s home now that you’ve regained consciousness, and never bring that disgusting reek of _all-kee-hol_ here again!” Dib flinches as the Invader speaks the word with underhanded disgust, his hand shaking aggressively towards him. “Go! Shoo! Go be nasty somewhere else!”

“Whatever. Let me just….find..” It’s a bit of a struggle with Gir, but Dib shoves the offending Irken’s hand away, freeing himself from the blanket (the floor is cold against his socks, his body sore from the cramped sleeping position) and ignoring the pang in his head as he makes for his shoes in the corner. He slips them on, too well aware of the fake contacts tracking his every move.

One sloppy movement after the next and both shoes are secured on his feet. Dib pauses. “Where’s my trenchcoat?”

Zim glares at him.“Incinerated.”

Dib glares at him, mouth opening in protest but the irken waves him off. “Your disgusting bile was all over it. I couldn’t allow that item to exist in my home any longer.” He watches as the paranormal investigator squints at him, mumbles something under his breath but doesn’t comment any further. It’s fine. He had other trench coats.

He is careful not to trip over Gir, who has fallen to the floor and taken the blanket with him, swung it around him like a burrito himself and sits fiddling with a remote. The robot hits the buttons with lightening speed, teal eyes glued to the large TV screen in the middle of the room. Dib glances towards the wall outlet. It’s not even plugged in.

It’s when he reaches the door, hand on the handle, does Zim speak up again. “If you dare die from something as ‘_recreational poison_’” He spits out the words like it tastes sour in his own mouth. “I will not have the honor of killing you myself.”

Dib’s eye twitches. “Sounds like a you problem.” He watches the alien’s face squint at the refute and feels the smallest bit of satisfaction at the reaction. “Besides, I wasn’t gonna die anyway. I think I’d have to drink a lot more than what I did for that to happen.” He pauses, a hand coming up to touch the sore spot on his forehead. “I think.”

He expects some sort of insult. Zim remains silent, eyes narrowed at him.

It feels awkward now. Which was weird. When you hate someone enough, you stopped caring about what they think of you, what they say to you and what you’ve said to them. But the stare that the alien is giving him feels like a spotlight on a stage, and Dib feels his hand tighten around the door handle. Something unsaid.

“If you’re expecting me to say sorry for coming here to fight you, I’m not.” He speaks up.“I’ll wreck your plans still. Just, not now.” Seriously, he needs a shower and some food and a nice, long nap. Away from this Invader and his screeching robot, preferably.

“Yes, yes. Save the planet. Hero of your people. I get it.” Zim waves a hand. The invader sounds tired, a drastic change from the attitude of last night. Something is on his mind. Probably impatient that Dib is keeping him from continuing his next set of plans. “Go away and bathe, sweaty.”

Hesitance. Dib’s fingers touch the fabric of the bandage on his head before his hand drops to his side. “Why did I wake up here?” He asks. “I mean, you could have killed me in my sleep. Or experimented on me. Or threw me outside, at least.”

The alien’s form goes frozen, posture stiff in soldier stance and face neutral as forcibly possible. “You-”

Gir screams out loud and overwhelming. “WELL…Master thought you was DEAD and got all _twitchy_ and _sad_ like-!”

A metal leg extends from Zim’s Pak, stabs through a thick portion of the blanket Gir was wrapped in and flings the screaming robot into another room. A crash can be heard from the kitchen, as well as a few maniacal giggles.

Dib doesn’t even get to think upon Gir’s words before the leg extends in his direction now, threateningly close to his face and inching closer, backing him up until he’s skin to wood with the door. “Out! Out! Get out of my base!” Zim’s face is snarling, hunched over and yelling. So, back to how he usually is. “Get your filthy, disgusting, stinking worm body out of my home or I’ll turn you and your stupid giant head into a pile of-”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the threat, dodging as the leg comes a little too close for comfort and throwing open the door, ignoring the sharp pain in his head as the sunlight assaults him from all angles. He trips over a gnome again, catching himself right as falls and breaking into a sprint. “This isn’t over, Zim! I’ll come back when I’m better and I’ll…I’ll….”

“You’ll what? Destroy the rest of my normal human lawn ornaments?” Zim screams from his doorway.

Dib skids to a stop a safe distance away just so they can scream at each other in a perfectly synced morning routine, that is, until the neighbors peak their head out the windows and Dib is utterly reminded of his horrible hangover when one of them tosses a newspaper at his head to shut him.


End file.
